Antisocial Exchange Theory

These roads of southern Indiana were Gandy's stomping ground. Before all the complications that people bring, these roads were the entire world. Narrow and bumpy and curvy, he drove them to find out where he was going. Night after night, hour after hour, he would drive them until early morning only to find himself not far from where he started.

Alone in his car, stacks of CDs in the passenger seat, Gandy wanted nothing more than to be liked. Or no, not to be liked, but to experience what people were like. To know what it was like to be wanted. Other people were the one challenge he never felt capable of overcoming. Not a desire to be understood, not a feeling of alienation. It angered him that he could not figure them out. Everything else came so easy, he had a certain knack. As it turns out, he had a knack for them, too. Karma police.

Not quite avoidance, not quite self-discovery, not quite. The extra money he’d saved had gone for the best car audio system he could afford. Clear and loud, loud and clear. If he’d had something else to do, he might have considered doing it. If anyone desired his presence he might have considered hanging around. Better than locking himself up, better than being stationary.

Sometimes thoughts arrived that frightened him, irrational bullshit, weak violence. Stronger than that, get the fuck gone for awhile. Midnight invisibility. Only outlines and shadows, shapes and forms, never detail. It dulled
the pain. Gave hope. Sometimes a light in a window in a farmhouse miles from anything, and then the trees, the woods, the distance traveled with no one, maybe they’re all gone. With the spark came the speed and the navigational skill. Feet, hands, and eyes synchronous while melodies soar. Correct. Right. A few moments of forgetfulness cause a mind to orgasm, but the sun begins to show the truth, it’s early morning and the world still exists and he does, too, and
here he is right where he started goddamn it.

So he was behind the wheel again, those movies still playing. His mind continued searching for things it hadn’t noticed the first time around. Patterns of behavior.
Can you pick me up? Give me a ride? Cover for me? Hey chief, could you? You got ten bucks? We’re kind of shorthanded over here, can you give us a hand? I know it’s your day off, but you’ll need to come in. You wanna go to the concert Saturday? Get us some tickets and we can go. I need someone to talk to. My boyfriend is such an asshole. You’re such a good friend! Thanks, buddy. Thanks Big Guy.

Hey, you know I'm only kidding right? I'm just teasing. Playing around. Goofing off. Having some fun with you. Can’t you take a joke? And the whispers. The rumors. The glances. The smirks. The chuckles.

Gandy slowed down through the little enchanted forest that surrounded this section of the road. A half a mile straightaway, the last one for a long time. Just another couple of miles. He flipped open the CD wallet that lay in the passenger seat and turned on the dome light. Nope. Nope. Nope. No. There it is. He slid it into the player, keyed over to the sixth song. Phew.

For a minute there, I lost myself.